Drowning
by Sam Marsh
Summary: Stan has sunk into a depression so he looks to his best friend, Kyle, for help. In his state of mind and through all the time they spend together, he finally realizes a deeply hidden truth. Stan/Kyle slash. Author's Note: This is my first fanfic, so please read and review. Thanks!
1. We'll Get Through It Together

In the midst of the night, Stan lay awake in bed trying his hardest to drown out the seemingly never-ending buzzing in his head.

It started about a month ago, when his parents began arguing more and, one day, slipped the word "divorce" into a not-so-quiet conversation. Little did they know, Stan was still awake, staring at his computer screen while trying to finish up a last-minute assignment for school and unfortunately in earshot of the whole dispute.

The idea of divorce freaked him out. His family was dysfunctional, sure, but he loved it nonetheless. He didn't think he would ever be able to choose between parents. What if he had to move out of South Park? Deal with all the messy visitation bullshit? Leave his friends? Leave… Kyle? The thoughts rushed through his brain all at once and he could feel tears welling up in his eyes as he tensed his facial muscles and pinched the bridge of his noise. Two tears eventually made their way down his flushed cheeks.

He hadn't been able to sleep well since.

He now looked over to his alarm clock which read _3:05 a_m. It was Monday now, and although school was out for the summer, he had to get up early to do his paper route. _Goddammit_, he thought to himself and rolled over onto his other side to look out the window. The moon was full and the sky was clear. The snow had finally melted in South Park, and the temperature had been getting warmer. But that didn't matter to Stan, for the dreariness in his heart extended to every external matter in his life. He felt like he was walking under rain clouds all day and night as he continued to sink into a depression. Not only were his parents still talking about divorce, but Wendy had broken up with him two weeks ago without so much a reason other than "I think we should see other people." Stan felt alone, if anything. At fourteen years of age, just hitting puberty and subsequently a ball full of emotions, his state of mind only amplified his teenage angst, and he knew it to be dangerous. He just couldn't find it in himself to do anything about it. So he willingly continued getting rained on. _Umbrellas are for conformists_, he'd typically defend to himself. The time he spent with the Goth Kids years previous seemed to have rubbed off on him.

Stan closed his eyes, hoping for the best, although cynicism had the better of him lately. He finally fell asleep, however, only to be awoken by the startling sound of his alarm clock at precisely 5:45 am.

Stan sat up in his bed and rubbed his tired eyes. "Hmmph," he grumbled to himself, stepped down from his bed, grabbed his brown sweater and headed out to deliver the papers.

He inhaled the morning breeze, although too tired to fully appreciate the freshness of it. In the distance, birds were chirping their morning tunes as Stan clumsily went door-to-door to place the newspapers in the mailboxes of his neighbors.

An hour and a half went by and, placing the last newspaper in its mailbox, he heard "Good morning, Stanley!" as he neared his best friend Kyle's house. "How are you this morning?" inquired Sheila Broflovski. "Kyle's upstairs. Would you go wake him up for me? I'm just fixing up some breakfast."

Stan had been going to Kyle's for breakfast every morning since he started his paper route. Because school was out, the two boys didn't get to see each other as much as they did during the school year. But that never stopped them from trying. Best friends since they were in kindergarten and Super Best Friends since they were only 8 years old, Stan and Kyle were practically inseparable. And that's how they liked it. Although Kyle was slightly more busy during the week with family outings and such, something Sheila insisted on to keep her family as closely-knit as possible, he always made time for Stan and hardly went a day without seeing him at least once. They loved each other, they both were sure, but in fear of sounding ridiculous, neither of the boys actually voiced the words to one another. They could just sense it, and that was good enough.

"Morning, Mrs. Broflovski," he replied with a smile and enough enthusiasm to hide his state of mind. He stepped inside and quickly ran upstairs to Kyle's room.

Kyle seemed to be the only thing that made Stan somewhat happy. When everything else around him was falling apart, he could turn to Kyle and immediately feel okay about it all. So when he slowly turned the door handle, he realized he had a genuine smile on his face, and quietly crept inside.

Kyle was still asleep, his back turned to Stan. He could see his messy red locks of hair protruding from the blankets that covered most of Kyle's body up to his chin. Taking in the image of his friend, he took a deep breath, walked over to his bedside and sat down beside him.

"Hey Kyle," he gently nudged him. Kyle stirred and, being the light sleeper he is, started to open his eyes and draw back his blankets. "Your mom's making breakfast. She wanted me to wake you up."

Kyle yawned then looked at Stan with a smile, happy to see his best friend. "Hey dude. How was the paper route?" he asked while propping himself up against his headboard.

"Same ol' crap," he replied, rolling his eyes. "How was your sleep?"

Kyle rubbed his eyes and yawned again before answering. "Pretty good, actually. But I could use some more. Lie down with me for five minutes," he invited Stan while rubbing the spot next to him in a jokingly seductive manner. Stan laughed and did as he was told, climbing under the blankets to face Kyle.

After a moment of silence, Stan spoke up. "Dude…" he started with a solemn tone of voice, "My parents have been talking about getting a divorce."

"What? No way, dude," Kyle's eyes widened in shock as he spoke. "Are you for real?"

"Yeah… All they do is bitch at each other lately. I can't stand it!"

"Wow, Stan. I'm sorry to hear that. You know I'm here for you, though." Kyle gave Stan a warm half smile and put his hand out to rub his arm. "We'll get through it together."

Stan felt a sense of relief from the kind words. "Thanks, dude. I've been feeling really depressed lately and…" Stan paused midway through his sentence and reflected on the events of the past month. Suddenly feeling overwhelmed, he had to hold back the tears he could feel were coming. "I-don't know what I'd do without my best friend," he finally managed to choke out.

Kyle immediately wrapped his arms around the trembling boy and they both lay there, side by side, Kyle softly hushing Stan through his sobs.

Five minutes had passed and the sun was brightly shining in through the window. Kyle looked over at his alarm clock which read _8:01 am_ and spoke up to Stan. "You ready for some breakfast? I think I smell veggie bacon," he chimed. Stan looked up with bloodshot eyes but managed to smile again.

And with that they headed downstairs to eat, Stan feeling content at least for the time being.


	2. An Open Heart

"So I hear your parents don't love you anymore and are getting a divorce," Cartman spewed from across the table at Stan. The three boys, the two aforementioned and Kyle, decided to meet at Shakey's Pizza for lunch the following weekend. Apparently news had gotten out about the Marsh family. Stan wasn't pleased.

"Shut up, fatass!" Kyle defended Stan. "You don't know shit."

"Oh really?" Cartman continued. "Then how come the whole town's talking about it? Last I heard, Stan's mom is taking him and his sister to live in Denver 'cause their dad's a retard or something."

"What?!" screamed Stan, not having heard this particular news himself.

Kyle, already irritated by Cartman's nonsense, chipped in again. "Cartman's a lying piece of shit. Don't listen to him, Stan."

Just then, a Shakey's waitress made her way to the boys' table, interrupting the dispute. "Have you boys decided on what you'll be having?"

"Uhh, yeah," began Kyle, trying to suppress the annoyance in his voice. "We're splitting a large cheese pizza. Whole grain crust. And a pitcher of Fresca, please."

"Perfect," said the waitress with a smile, collecting the menus from the boys. "Your order will be out shortly."

As soon as the waitress was out of sight, Cartman and Kyle resumed their bickering. "You Jews and your health-consciousness. You're almost as big of a pussy as Stan here."

"Like you need any more crap in your gut with all the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, lard ass," Kyle angrily spat back.

"Kahl," Cartman began, clearing his throat, and drawing his hands together for dramatic effect, "I understand if you feel you need to defend your boyfriend's honor, but there's no need to coat it with good intentions. Just admit that you get enough pepperoni when Stan's pounding you from behind."

Both Stan and Kyle's eyes widened.

"Cartman, if you don't shut the fuck in the next two seconds, I will shove your head so far up your ass, you'll have to wear yourself as a hat!" Kyle was getting furious. It was one thing for Cartman to pick on him, but to pick on his best friend was crossing the line, especially in his time of need.

"It's okay, dude," Stan interjected, looking at Kyle. "I stopped listening to the fatass a long time ago." But Stan's facial expression reflected moderate distress.

Just then, Kenny arrived and plopped down next to Cartman. "Hey, guys! What'd I miss?"

"About time you showed up," Cartman huffed. "Where've you been?"

"Sorry. Parents made me go to Church again." Kenny began. "I still don't see the point of it all. No matter how devout my family is, God clearly doesn't give a rat's ass about us. My parents are still dirt-poor alcoholics, and I still get the wrath of it all… But _c'est la vie_, right?" Kenny chuckled. He was someone who somehow always managed to keep in good spirits no matter how awful the circumstance.

The three other boys nodded in agreement, finally calming down from the quarrel.

The waitress came back, placing the fresh-out-of-the-oven pizza and chilled pitcher of pop on their table, allowing the boys to eat in peace. After all, it's hard to argue with each other when you have the city's best pizza in your mouth. But Stan felt otherwise. He hardly had an appetite. Instead, he wondered if Cartman's words about his parents were true and started to feel nauseated.

When it came time to leave, the boys all chipped in their share of the bill with enough for a decent tip and headed their separate ways.

Stan strolled along quietly with his head down and eyes glued to the pavement. _I don't want to move to Denver_, he kept thinking to himself. _This isn't fucking fair._ As Stan eventually made his way to the front door of his house, he could hear his parents arguing inside and stopped to listen before entering.

"Randy, I don't know how much more of this I can take! Your behaviour is just outrageous! When are you going to start acting your age? You're forty years old for god's sake, Randy! Not fourteen!" He could hear the words distinctly, even through the door's barrier.

The buzzing in Stan's head had started again. "I can't fucking take this!" he screamed through gritted teeth and started running towards Stark's Pond in a fit of rage.

Stark's Pond had always been a sort of sanctuary for Stan. Whenever he needed somewhere to just unwind and process his thoughts without interruption, without the commotion, without that _goddamn buzzing_, that's where he went. It was secluded and tranquil where the only audible sounds were the calm stream of the pond and the woodland animals happily scurrying through the bushes. The park was flooded with arrays of evergreen trees, soft emerald grass, earthy brown soil, and the scent of wild daisies. Mountainous hills formed the perimeter, but they weren't so much threatening as comforting. They made Stan feel safe.

As he reached his destination, Stan sat himself on a bench facing the pond and looked up for just a brief moment; but blinded by the sun's brilliance, he looked back at the body of water and took notice of a school of fish swimming, seemingly content.

"It doesn't always take water to feel like you're drowning," Stan wept to himself and rested his chin in both hands to gaze at the ground. _What am I going to do? _he continued thinking to himself in somewhat of a daze.

A few minutes had passed and, with a sigh, Stan closed his eyes to hopefully slip into a more relaxed state of mind but was immediately interrupted by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"Hey dude," Kyle started with a sympathetic tone of voice as he suddenly took in Stan's solemn body language.

"Hey Kyle," Stan returned without breaking his current position. He could feel his cheeks start to blush, slightly embarrassed from being seen in such a state, even by his best friend.

"I went to your house to see if you wanted to do something, but your mom told me you hadn't come home yet. Is everything alright, dude? You seemed off at lunch. I wanted to make sure you were okay."

There was no doubt in Stan's mind why Kyle was his best friend. From the way he always knew exactly what was wrong, where to find him, what to say in order to calm him down, to the way he caressed his shoulders and spoke soothingly… It made Stan's heart melt sometimes. When his parents were too busy fighting with each other to pay any attention to him, Kyle was there with open arms and more importantly, an open heart. Stan was truly grateful for having someone like Kyle in his life.

As these thoughts went through his mind, Stan finally managed to form somewhat of a smile for the first time all day.

Kyle had made his way around the park bench to face Stan, concern evident on his face.

"Thanks, dude," Stan replied while hesitantly looking up to meet Kyle's eyes. Now fixated on his friend's profile, Stan had to catch his breath before continuing. "I'm just so pissed off at the whole family situation." He shook his head in exasperation. "I'm not sure how much more of it I can take. They've hardly even spoken to me all week. I'm starting to think Cartman's right… Maybe they don't love me anymore." Stan paused for a brief moment, and then genuinely questioned, "Can they do that?" But Kyle quickly interrupted him.

"No! Don't be stupid," he raised his voice. "And more importantly, don't listen to what Cartman has to say about the matter! Actually, don't listen to what Cartman has to say about anything. What does that fat piece of shit know anyway?"

Stan chuckled in realization that Kyle, who was now taking a seat beside him, was probably right.

"Maybe you should talk to them yourself. I'm sure they still love you, Stan. You're almost fifteen now, and I'm also sure you're mature enough to sit down with your parents to find out what's going on."

"Yeah, you're right," Stan confessed, now looking back down at the ground. "I think I will. Tomorrow. Tonight I need to just chill out and clear my head."

"That's a good idea," Kyle assured. "Come over for dinner at my place. My dad's making matzo ball soup. And afterwards, we can rock some Guitar Hero. What do you say, Stan?"

After another brief pause, Stan smiled and looked over, now locking eyes with his companion once more. "You're the best, Kyle."

"The _super_ best. And don't forget it."

With that, the boys stood up and began making their way to the Broflovski residence.

* * *

Kyle offered to let Stan stay the night with him, but having his paper route to do the next morning, Stan woefully declined and instead promised to see him the next morning for breakfast.

By ten o'clock, he found himself at the front door of his house again, but this time, no noise could be heard coming from inside. Stan carefully opened the door and, to his surprise, the lights were off and, from what he could tell, his parents had already gone to bed. Happy to not have to explain his whereabouts of this past evening, Stan softly trotted up the stairs to his bedroom, throwing off his tuque and clothes until he was left only in a pair of boxers. He slipped under the covers and peacefully drifted off to sleep.


	3. Nervous

_"Stan…" he heard in the near distance, but he couldn't quite make out the figure in front of him. _

_Stan stood there, surrounded by a heavy grey fog and apparently unable to move, noted after a failed attempt at extending his arm out. A gust of wind blew towards him. He felt cold and confused. _

_"Stan… Stan, my boy," he heard again, but this time it was more audible._

_"Dad?" he questioned, the voice now sounding more familiar to him. "Is that you?"_

_"Stan, listen… Your mother and I have talked about it, and we think it's best if—_"_ Randy paused for a moment before continuing with the apathetic tone of voice that put Stan at unease. "We think it's best if you just move out."_

_Stan could now clearly distinguish his father and mother standing in front of him, but just as quickly as they appeared, they vanished and were replaced by a sunny and clear atmosphere. Stan, finally unfrozen from his short state of paralysis, reached out to meet the shoulders of his best friend. _

_"Kyle!" he shouted in excitement, feeling more at ease now. "I missed you." He pulled the boy closer to him, but was interrupted by a flash of darkness, and his mother's voice in the distance._

_"Come on, Stanley. It's time to go."_

_"No, I don't wanna go. I wanna stay here with Kyle," Stan pleaded, but it was in vain. A sudden force was now pulling him away and, paralyzed again, he could not resist. He felt weightless, as if his body was no longer his as he began ascending heavenwards. "Kyle!" he shouted one last time in hopes of being pulled back down by his best friend._

_"Don't leave me, Stan!" Kyle cried, looking up at Stan with tears in his eyes, his arms reaching up in a grabbing motion but unable to attain his goal. Stan had no choice but to watch through his own tear-filled eyes. _

_"Don't leave me, Stan! I love you…" Kyle's voice trailed off, and Stan could feel his heart pounding, ready to escape his ribcage. _

_Flash._

_Stan now stood in a quiet, empty street. The sun rose again, illuminating the once-sinister setting with warmth. But despite this, Stan shivered, the last words of his best friend still ringing in his ears. _

_"Kyle?" he questioned the barren roads with ache in his voice. "Where's Kyle?!" _

This time he was screaming, right through to when he woke up.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, propping himself against his headboard, taking in reality. He looked around his room; left to right, out his window, then at his alarm clock which read _3:25 am_.

_It was just a dream,_ he thought to himself, still panting from the unnerving feeling that lingered. It took a few minutes to shake it off. The dream felt so real, despite the obvious surreal aspects of it. Stan rubbed his eyes, noticing the wetness dripping down his cheeks. He quickly wiped it away and lay back down to stare at the ceiling.

But that's when the buzzing returned.

"Oh god, get out of my head!" he mumbled through gritted teeth and turned onto his side to look out the window.

It was still dark, but the purple hue of dawn was painted across the sky, revealing morning's commencement. This time of night usually put Stan at ease. The stillness—the dead silence while the world slept—let him know that he was still alive. It was refreshing lying awake at such an hour, alone but not dead. This time of night, he could hear his heartbeat with clarity; rhythmic, calm. At present, however, Stan's head was flooded with thoughts and the accompanying emotions as his concentration clung to Kyle. His heart fluttered with ferocity, and he was sure that if people could hear heartbeats, his would wake anyone up from their most peaceful slumber.

He sat up again, contemplating calling his best friend. He could probably talk him back to sleep, but sudden nervousness coursed through Stan as his train of thought came to a halt. Why was he nervous at the thought of calling Kyle? It had been a habit for the two boys ever since they were eight, but now it was giving Stan…

_Butterflies?_ He thought to himself, clutching his stomach. The words _'I love you' _flashed through his mind once again, and he could feel the bile rising up his esophagus. "What the fuck…" he managed to spit out, gagging on the words. Then he remembered that he was going to talk to his parents today about the supposed divorce. He shivered at the thought, both nervous and nauseated. He looked at the clock, which now read _4:05 am,_ but as he turned his head, he was overcome by nausea and puked into the fortunately placed wastebasket beside his nightstand.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" he pouted, rolled over and out of bed and stumbled to the washroom to get himself cleaned up before getting ready for his morning duty.

* * *

The morning breeze seemed to have been beneficial to Stan, for he no longer felt sick to his stomach.

As per usual, Stan soon found himself at the Broflovski residence, welcomed by Sheila once again. "Good morning, Stanley!"

"H-hey, Mrs. Broflovski," he stammered, suddenly starting to feel anxious to see Kyle.

"You know where he is," she said with a smile. "Breakfast will be ready in fifteen."

"Thanks," Stan replied, and slowly climbed the stairs to Kyle's bedroom. But before he made it, he was met by the gaze of his best friend who was just coming out of the washroom.

"Hey dude!" Kyle chimed, happiness evident in his eyes and voice. Stan was taken aback by the sight.

"M-morning," he choked out.

"Wow, you look like shit," Kyle began after taking in his friend's appearance, then motioning Stan to his room. "Did you sleep okay?"

Stan trailed behind Kyle as he replied. "No, man. I had a really fucked up dream last night that woke me up at 3:30—" He paused, reflecting on the dream's events, cheeks now stained with crimson. "—Couldn't get back to sleep," he finished, snapping back to reality. The two boys were now both sitting side by side on Kyle's recently-made bed, knees turned at about a forty-degree angle and almost touching. Stan could still feel both the lingering warmth of Kyle's body radiating from the mattress through the covers, and the present warmth of Kyle's thigh. It was sort of inebriating. Stan started to feel light-headed.

"Well, if you're still tired, I guess you could go take a nap," Kyle spoke warily, looking over to his pillow. "But I can't promise I won't eat all the blueberry waffles my mom's making us for breakfast."

"No, I'm fine," Stan shook his head. "Waffles sound really good about now," he lied.

As if on cue, they heard Sheila calling them from below. "Boys, breakfast is ready!"

With that, they made their way downstairs to eat.

Again, Stan didn't have much of an appetite; his mind was still occupied by the previous night's dream (of which he couldn't yet bring himself to tell Kyle the whole truth) and the anticipation of having to talk to his parents soon. But out of politeness, he ate everything on his plate.

Kyle's parents had left only a few minutes after Stan's arrival; Gerald to work, and Sheila to drop Kyle's little brother, Ike, off at summer school, and, now that they were alone, Stan finally decided to speak up.

"Dude, I'm gonna talk to my parents today, but I'm terrified as fuck," he started. Kyle looked at him, his eyebrows furrowed in intrigue, so he nodded for Stan to continue, which he did. "And I was hoping you could come with me... for moral support. I think I need you there…" he confessed. Kyle's eyes softened.

"Sure, dude," he assured. "When were you planning on doing this?"

Stan looked over to the clock hanging in the dining room, directly behind where Kyle was sitting. "I guess now. They both go to work for 9:30, so we have an hour and a half to get to my place and talk to them. I just can't wait the rest of the day. It's stressing me out, dude. I need to get this over with."

"Alright. Let's go!"

So they did.

Walking in the front door, Stan immediately took note of the four large pieces of luggage sitting in the middle of the living room, no parents in sight.

"Mom? Dad?!" he shouted, fearing the worst. "What the hell is going on?"

No reply. Stan clenched his fists, panic washing over him and nausea settling in. Kyle put a gentle hand on his shoulder, also fearing the worst for his best friend.

There was still no reply.

* * *

**To be continued...**


	4. Nervous: Part II

"Stan?" he could now hear coming from upstairs. "Stan, my boy?"

Randy finally appeared, leisurely walking down the stairs from the washroom, a coffee mug in his hand. Stan stood there, Kyle by his side, both in shock and fearful of his father's next words. "Your mother and I have talked about it…" he started, averting his eyes until finally resting on Stan's. "—And we've decided that we'd like to travel across Europe!" Both Stan and Kyle went wide-eyed, mouth agape. Randy continued. "We figured we needed a getaway just the two of us so we can work on our issues. But we'll be back in a couple weeks. Your mother was just on the phone with Kyle's, and she said it was alright if you stayed at their house while we're away."

"Du-ude! Sweet!" Kyle looked over to Stan and patted his shoulder in excitement.

Stan's mother, Sharon, was now making her way down the stairs to join everyone. Stan stood with his mouth still parted.

"Wait, so you're not getting a divorce?"

"Goodness, no," assured Sharon. "We may fight, but we love each other very much.

Randy put a loving arm around his wife's waist. "That's right, son. And we apologize if our fighting has caused you some grief. But we promise that it'll get better. We're going to be making lots of changes around here. We're going to be a family again."

"Are you shitting me right now?" scorn dripped from Stan's tongue.

"Language, young man!" retorted Sharon, appalled by her son's choice of words. "Now I hope you won't be using such profanities at the Broflovski's. You know how Sheila is, Stanley." She paused for a moment. "And if you're wondering, your sister Shelly will be staying with her boyfriend, so if you need to get a hold of her, you have her cellphone number, right?"

After all the fuss of the past month, the inner turmoil, the sleepless nights, the _nightmares_, Stan couldn't believe what he was hearing. One whole month he had felt like shit, thinking his parents didn't love him, that they were getting a divorce and that he'd have to leave South Park… just to be told that they're going on vacation?! _My parents are fucking retarded_, he thought to himself before replying, "Yes, mom."

"Good. We love you so much, Stanley." Sharon kissed his forehead. "And Kyle," she continued, now converting her attention to the other boy, "Take good care of him while we're gone, okay?"

"Will do, Mrs. Marsh!" Kyle spoke with a teeth-bearing grin.

"Come on, Sharon," Randy interrupted, but with a tender tone of voice. "We have a plane to catch in three hours, and you know how Denver traffic is."

With that, Stan's parents picked up their luggage and rolled it outside to their car. After finally getting it all to fit in the trunk and backseat, they got into their respective seats, buckled their seat belts and began backing out of the driveway, honking the horn at the two boys before driving off.

Stan and Kyle stood in the doorway.

"Dude," Kyle started. "That turned out better than expected, huh?"

It took a few minutes for Stan to come to terms with everything he had just witnessed. But despite his parents' erratic behaviour, their ignorance, and all the subsequent bullshit emotional drama he had to endure for the past while, it finally sunk in. Hopefully now he'd be able to move past his constant sadness. Maybe the buzzing would stop, and the nerves would go away, all while getting to spend quality time with his best friend. "Yeah, I guess so." Stan snorted, a smirk eventually appearing on his face.

"So what did you wanna do now?"

Stan took a breath in relief. "Let's call up Kenny and Cartman and go throw the football around at the park."

* * *

"I'm open, I'm open!" shouted Kenny. Kyle threw the ball to his teammate who quickly made a touchdown.

"Cartman, what the hell?! You're supposed to tackle the opponents when they have the ball," Stan directed angrily at the chubby boy, who was off near the sidelines, snacking on a bag of Cheesy Poofs.

"Oh, my bad," Cartman spewed, mouth full of orange sludge.

"Get your ass back in the game, fat boy!"

"Aye! Don't call me fat, butt-fucker. I'll kick you in the nuts!"

"I'd like to see you come over here and try."

That was enough incentive to get Cartman back on the field, so the four boys lined up to make the next play, Kenny in possession to hike the ball.

"Down, set, hut!" he shouted, tossing the ball to Kyle who caught it with ease, then took a moment to figure out the best course of action to get the touchdown. But having taken too long, he was stunned by Stan tackling him to the ground.

Kyle cautiously opened his eyelids and found Stan staring down at him with a big grin on his face.

With Tuesday's afternoon sun shining radiantly, Stan took the opportunity to look into his best friend's eyes, taking note of the beautifully illuminated green. He had never paid much attention to his counterpart's physique, much less his eyes, but today, he noticed that they reflected a moss-like green with small flecks of steel-blue around the perimeter of the iris. They were rather beautiful, he decided.

But apparently Stan had stared a second too long because he was suddenly overcome with butterflies. He quickly looked away, and both boys burst into a fit of laughter, rolling off one another, Stan composing himself before standing again. As Kyle did the same, he gave Stan a playful smack on ass for congratulations. Stan winced.

"Fags," Cartman sneered at a safe distance.

Kenny rolled his eyes at the whole scene, walking over to the two disheveled friends.

"Shut up, Cartman," spat Kyle. "You're just jealous because no one can even stand the _thought_ of touching you and your fat ass." Stan and Kenny both laughed while Cartman glared at his long-time rival.

"Yeah? Well, screw your guys! I'm going home." Cartman picked up the football and the rest of his Cheesy Poofs, indignant of his friends' taunting, and walked off the field in a sulk.

"What a cry-baby," Kenny smirked. The other two boys shrugged.

* * *

Kenny went home after realizing he had promised his little sister that he'd hang out with her sometime this afternoon. She didn't have many friends thanks to the awful reputation the McCormick's had for being low-class drunks. Stan and Kyle knew this, of course, but it didn't affect their opinion of Kenny. He was a really good friend to all of them. But to his little sister, Karen, Kenny was more like a saviour—at least that's what she'd tell him. When she'd come home from school, crying from having been picked on by her classmates, Kenny was there for her in her time of need, listening to her, and soothing her with insight and stories. It was a relationship almost parallel to that of Stan and Kyle, who decided to head back to Kyle's for lunch.

"Afternoon, Kyle. What were you boys up to this morning?" Sheila inquired as soon as the two entered the house, but after making note of their ruffled appearance, and before either boy could answer, she continued, "For Abraham's sake, you're all dirty!"

"We were playing football, mom," replied Kyle.

"Well go get cleaned up before lunch, bubaleh. I'm making latkes; your favourite!"

Neither Kyle nor Stan felt it was necessary to clean up. They were boys after all, and boys were _meant _to be dirty. But Kyle knew better than to argue with his mother, so he and Stan went upstairs to wash up.

They stood in the bathroom, about to remove their grass-stained and muddy t-shirts when Stan paused, realizing that he didn't bring a spare change of clothing.

"What's wrong, dude?" Kyle questioned after removing his own shirt.

"I, uh, guess we'll have to head back to my house later so I can grab a few things," Stan chuckled awkwardly in slight embarrassment.

"Don't worry about it, dude. You can just wear one of my shirts for now." Kyle walked over to the sink and reached down to open the cupboard to grab two washcloths, tossing one of them at Stan who managed to catch it on his chest. Kyle began running the tap, paying no mind to the temperature of the water, and they each took a turn wetting their respective cloths.

"Shit, that's cold!" Stan instantly exclaimed as his hands hit the near-freezing liquid.

"Don't be a pussy, dude," Kyle replied with a smirk, eyebrows furrowed in thought. Then, without warning, he ambushed his now-shivering friend with his own cloth. Stan yelped as Kyle began wiping him down.

"That's freezing!" he cried, then began dancing around both out of shock and in attempt to get away from his aggressor. Kyle laughed at the scene.

Stan walked over to turn on the tap himself, making sure to get the water warm before wetting his cloth again. Kyle had already managed to finish cleaning himself up and watched Stan as he did the same.

When it looked as if he was done, Kyle spoke up. "Here," he started, moving closer until he was standing eye-level to his companion. "You missed a spot." Kyle smiled cautiously as he went to rub off the remaining patch of dirt from Stan's cheek. Stan didn't stop him.

Instead, he caught himself staring at his friend who had finished his task and, now resting his hands on Stan's shoulders, was staring right back.

_Those eyes_, Stan thought to himself, subtly biting his lower lip. He suddenly felt an unfamiliar, but profound urge to close the small gap of space that was between them. Butterflies attacked his stomach, light-headedness settling in. He swallowed hard before breaking the silence.

"W-we better get back downstairs," he stuttered. "I'm starving." An awkward half-smile crept onto Stan's face as he darted his eyes around the washroom.

"Yeah," Kyle coughed, "Me too."

The boys let out a heavy breath before stepping out of the washroom and into Kyle's bedroom. He picked out a shirt for Stan, and they both got dressed before scurrying downstairs for lunch.

Sheila had already fixed the boys a plate each and set them on the table next to one other. Stan and Kyle pulled out their chairs and sat down to enjoy the meal. A couple of bites in, Sheila, who was sitting across from the two, spoke up.

"Don't forget, bubaleh, you have to pick Ike up from school today."

Kyle, whose mouth was full, nodded in acknowledgement, paying more attention to the food on his plate.

"What's your brother doing in summer school anyway?" asked Stan after swallowing the food in his mouth. "Isn't he already some sort of genius?"

Kyle took a breath, pausing for a moment from eating. "Yeah, it's for extra credit so he can skip to fourth grade in the fall." He resumed ravaging his lunch. The football game from an hour ago had clearly taken a lot out of him.

"You better finish up soon, boys. It's already half past noon, and you have to get Ikey by 1 o'clock," Sheila reminded.

Stan and Kyle finished what was on their plates within five minutes, and put on their shoes to walk to South Park Elementary.

Ike was waiting outside when the two showed up.

"How was school today, Ike?" asked Kyle as he ruffled his little brother's hair. Ike quickly swatted his hand away.

"Mr. Mackey's teaching the summer courses this year, _mmmkay._" Ike imitated the aforementioned man's famous quirk. His big brother's sense of humor had obviously rubbed off on him. Stan and Kyle laughed before Ike continued. "He's alright, I guess. We just went over our multiplication tables."

Ike led the way back home while Stan and Kyle trailed safely behind, walking habitually close to one another when the back of their hands brushed against each other. The touch felt electric.

But instead of moving farther away to rid the imminent awkward tension, Kyle decided to grab Stan's hand into his own and looked over and smiled. Stan seemed shocked at first, evidenced by the limpness of his hand, but the smile radiating at him had a relaxing effect, and he tightened his own grip.

Holding hands wasn't quite out of the ordinary for them, but Stan's newfound feelings got the better of him lately which only served to embarrass him. He only hoped that Kyle hadn't caught on yet. Stan at least wanted to figure them out before anyone jumped to conclusions about their hidden meaning. _Where's Freud when you need him?_ he thought, and laughed to himself.

Ike looked back and, taking note of his brother and his best friend, playfully questioned. "So when are you two gonna make it official?" he smirked.

Neither boy answered in hopes that it was a rhetorical question, and maintained their grasp. Ike was always making fun of them for their abnormally close friendship, but they never paid much attention to it.

When they finally arrived, a very hungry Ike went straight to the fridge in search of leftovers, making small-talk with his mother in the process, while Stan and Kyle went upstairs to play Guitar Hero in Kyle's bedroom.

* * *

Ten o'clock came around and, with Kyle fast asleep next to him, Stan lay awake in thought, eyes to the ceiling and hands clasped across his chest. This time, however, there was no buzzing. For this, Stan was relieved but confused.

Something felt _off_ for him. Things were… different somehow, and he wasn't sure whether it was good or bad.

He wanted to feel happy about his family's resolution, but for some reason he just couldn't. He remained apathetic towards their new promise to make things better at home; he didn't really care all that much. He loved his family, of course, but that didn't mean he had to like them or, much less, like spending time with them. The only thing Stan was relatively happy about was all the time he was spending with Kyle while his parents were away. More importantly, he was relieved that he wouldn't have to move out of South Park.

_What would I do without Kyle?_ he rhetorically asked himself and smiled.

Seconds later, Stan was startled by the rustling of the sheets as Kyle turned onto his side, now facing towards him. Stan looked over and down at the messy red-haired boy, overcome with nerves once again.

Kyle's mere presence made him light-headed, but now that he was asleep next to him, only inches away, Stan felt like the room was spinning. He could hardly think straight with all the emotions coursing through his entire body. Although never having tried psychoactive drugs personally, he was sure that this is what it felt like to be under the influence. He was soaring, being carried away by some powerful spirit above the skies and through the clouds. It was magical, but nauseating.

More rustling began, and this time, Kyle was snuggling up to Stan, throwing an arm over his stomach.

Not entirely sure how to react, nor understanding of his sleeping companion's unconscious intentions, Stan froze in his place, cheeks now burning red. He remained still for a few moments, then with one more look at Kyle, his obliviousness was replaced with clarity.

It all made sense. The fear, the nightmares, the tears, the butterflies, the _buzzing_… It was all for Kyle. The whole time he was worried about his parents separating, it was in fear of losing Kyle. The sleepless nights, the nightmares, the crying; they stopped when he was next to Kyle.

And then the butterflies. Kyle was making him nervous lately, but the only person who had ever made him nervous before was… _Wendy_, his eyes widened in realization as he processed the thought.

The buzzing returned, but this time because of the overwhelm of understanding. He was still drowning, but now it was in a pool of his undeniable romantic love for his best friend.

* * *

**To be continued...**


End file.
